Farewells
by Myrime
Summary: "I have come to say goodbye. I will be dead within a month." - Albus, Aberforth and how one says goodbye to something that won't be missed.


Farewells

* * *

_It doesn't matter who forgives you, if you're the one who can't forget._  
(The Storyteller - Jodie Picoult)

* * *

Aberforth wanted to be left alone. And maybe he wanted a little bit of revenge, too. No, he definitely wanted that. It was not hard to find reasons for that.

Dumbledore? Say, are you related to –

_What does Albus like? I only want to thank him._

_How great it must be to have a brother like him._

Yeah, stupid fucking great.

Aberforth hated people. Especially those, who followed the high and mighty Albus around like awe-struck puppies without the tiniest bit of common sense. All they went on about was how brilliant he was, how handsome, how – good.

If only they knew. If only they were able to see past that damned twinkle in his lying eyes, at the wasteland lurking behind, filled with the graves of the innocent souls he damned for the _greater good_.

They called _Aberforth_ queer and weird and wrong – as if it was not obvious that both remaining members of the Dumbledore family were just that.

The bell over the door rang,, ripping Aberforth out of his musings. "We're closed," he called out roughly, wondering who he meant with 'we'. There had not been a 'we' in a very long time.

"I had hoped you would make an exception for me." Of course, who else would dare to burst in here like he owned the whole damn world. And with a blasted smile on top of it.

"Why would I do that?" he replied grimly, purposely avoiding to look up from the glass he was cleaning, glad he had something to keep his hands busy.

Albus merely sighed oh-so-patiently and sat down uninvited at the bar, watching the monotonous movements.

"Is there something specific wanted?" Aberforth pressed out through clenched teeth when the other man made no move to break up the tense silence that had come up with his arrival. "Apart from ruining my day, that is."

"Is it so hard to believe that all I –" The almost withering glare directed at him caused Albus to interrupt himself. "I have come to talk. And –" he hesitated briefly, then continued almost apologizing, "To say goodbye."

There was no reaction, however closely the older brother looked. No distress – never that, he fears – but no contempt either, no trace of a mocking smile hinting at dark glee. Considering their past relationship, or rather lack thereof, he took that as almost a good sign.

"Don't tell me someone put that perfect master plan of yours to shambles? A pity," Aberforth drawled. "Wouldn't have thought you'd let anyone mess up your chance to be the dashing hero once again." A smirk appeared on tired lips. "Or have you decided to return to your roots and switch sides?"

Regrettably, Albus did not raise to the bait. Instead he carefully raised his right arm, drawing back the purple-coloured sleeve, and laid his blackened hand on top of the bar between them.

"I will be dead within a month."

Again there was no palpable reaction. Aberforth merely put down cloth and glass. "Looks nasty. I guess you had one lemon drop too many."

His brother did not deem that worthy of an answer. Getting up, he shook his sleeve back over the evidence of his upcoming doom, and stepped over to the wall where whiskey bottles stood row on row on a shelf. Picking one and flicking his – healthy – wrist to get two glasses, he poured both of them a generous amount.

While Aberforth did not protest, his toast spoke for itself, "To justice."

Albus smiled, for once looking every single one of his years. "To justice. And to home."

That brought confusion to the younger man's face, until he remembered that old argument. (_"We need you at home, Al." – "I'm home with _him.") He decided not to comment on it. Instead, they drank in silence. One, and another, then refilling their glasses again.

"What happened?" Aberforth finally asked, his voice almost painfully detached.

"I believe you called it my 'damned arrogance' once," chuckling, Albus raised his glass again – with his left, though his brother's gaze is fixed on the other, hidden limb.

"A month, you say? So I guess, now you'll tell me about my next important task for the greater good? Have you found some obscure spell to transfer that curse to me? Or shall I, mayhaps, hold that Potter boy's hand while preparing him for slaughter?"

Albus flinched almost imperceptibly. "I have come to say goodbye," he repeated stubbornly, fooling no one.

"And?"

"To see _her_."

The gentle tone did nothing to soothe the sudden anger rushing through Aberforth's body. "Because of the tunnel," he asked tonelessly, never needing an answer to know it was true. "Of course, why else would you come to see the sister you killed."

Neither the harsh accusation, nor the scathing tone was enough to start that argument he had hoped for. Though it was obvious that there was not much that kept Albus from giving in, but as it was, he merely clenched his glass tightly until all blood had left his fingers and they were so white as those of the corpse he would be soon enough.

They stared at each other, blue slashing with blue, neither willing to back down first. Until Albus spoke up softly, wondering, "I will see her soon."

It was a simple truth, but that made it hurt all the more. They might have both loved her, in their very own way, but Aberforth had not needed to see her dead body to realize that. He had been there for her, even before she had been broken. He had held her, sung her to sleep, made her smile when no one else could.

And still, he would take Albus back, would welcome him with open arms, forgive him even. Part of him relized that, no matter how much he wanted to, he could not take that from them.

"Come," he offered grudgingly, refusing to look at his brother. He led them upstairs into the small room he barely spent any time in. Not when she was always there, smiling and far-too-young and never speaking, no matter what he did.

Albus looked up at her in wonder, his right hand half-raised, as if she would step out of the black canvas and take it.

"Ariana," he whispered and she smiled. He flinched violently as if burned but, somehow, that did not give Aberforth any satisfaction. He knew that kind of pain well enough.

Neither of them spoke for a long while, lost in thoughts or old regrets until, finally, Albus asked, half-longingly, half-determined, "Would you take me to Hogwarts?"

She kept on smiling and nodded, but did not move otherwise, as if waiting for something.

"Will you help get the children to safety when Hogwarts falls?" Albust had turned around again, his expression urgent, pleading.

_When_ Hogwarts falls. Deciding not to question that, Aberforth inclined his head, though when he spoke, his voice was clouded in irritation, "Of course." That was why they were here, after all.

Ignoring the tone, Albus nodded in relief. "Thank you."

"I'm not doing this for you," his brother snapped, eyes narrowed stubbornly.

"I know," the older man sighed. "Nonetheless I thank you. They _are_ my students." Then he seemed at a loss for words, a rare sight indeed. "We probably won't be seeing each other again."

There were a thousand things he could have said to that. Instead, he settled for a simple, "No." Though nothing was really simple about it.

How did one say goodbye to a brother-turned-stranger, whose choices he despised, who had turned away when he had pleaded for help, all because he was on his way to greatness? He did not know.

"See that you survive this was," _The second I have caused,_ seemed to hang between them. "Live well."

Aberforth nodded but remained silent. It was only when Albus had disappeared into the tunnel with their sister that he spoke again, a mere whisper, not meant to be heard. "Greet her when you're with them."

It was the only farewell he could think of.

* * *

He did not go to the funeral. He had no desire to listen to endless speeches, to see the honest tears of fools, or to witness how many people honoured a man who had not deserved half of it.

Instead he sat at his bar, alone as he preferred it, finishing that bottle of whiskey Albus had opened the last time they had met.

It was later that night, when the last customer had left, that he went out and apparated to a well known spot in Godric's Hollow. He scoffed at his brother's arrogance who, even in death, refused to be close to his family.

Laying down two single flowers their sister's grave, he whispered, "Take care of him."

He never returned.

* * *

Reviews would make my day :)  
Thanks for reading!


End file.
